A thought comes to me. Doesn’t water circulate endlessly and never disappear? If that’s true, then the snowflakes Inseon grew up seeing could be the same ones falling on my face at this moment. I am reminded of the people Inseon’s mother described, the ones in the schoolyard, and release my arms from around my knees. I wipe the snow from my numbed nose and eyelid. Who’s to say the snow dusting my hands now isn’t the same snow that had gathered on their faces?
